


take a nap, mr. magnus

by LonesomeDreamer



Series: the adventures of an evil eye bastard and his lonely sea captain husband [5]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, but they're in bed so like, happens when you're left alone in a little prison room to ponder your husband's death, jonah is a little depressed, they're probably like wearing undergarments and nothing else, vaguely implied semi-nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:07:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23167795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonesomeDreamer/pseuds/LonesomeDreamer
Summary: jonah has feelings sometimes, but peter is surprisingly good at dealing with jonah's emotions.
Relationships: Peter Lukas/Jonah Magnus
Series: the adventures of an evil eye bastard and his lonely sea captain husband [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664716
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	take a nap, mr. magnus

“Jonah. This isn’t normal. It’s called depression.”

“Very helpful dictionary you’d make,” Jonah mumbles into his pillow. “You’re wrong, Peter. I’m fine.”

Peter sighs softly, running a hand through Jonah’s dark curls and mussing them up. “‘Fine’ isn’t spending a week in bed eating ice cream and pretending like you aren’t crying in your sleep, Jonah. I’m an avatar of the Lonely. Depression is practically my name.”

Jonah stills, flushing and moving to hide his face even though he knows it’s completely hidden in the pillow. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he _has_ been crying at night.

“So...you’ve heard me,” he says flatly, and Lukas can’t help but feel stung by the coldness in his husband’s—are they still husbands?—tone.

“Gods, of course I have,” Peter frowns, taking Jonah by the shoulder and gently rolling him over so they’re face-to-face. “I’m sleeping with you for most of the night. It’s not like I’m dead or something.”

He regrets the words the minute they fall from his lips, as Jonah responds with such a visceral reaction that he can practically feel it himself. It’s painful to watch the older Brit try to shove down his feelings; his lip is trembling, and Peter realizes with a start that Jonah is about to cry. It’s absolutely bizarre—he’s never seen Jonah at such a point where a few words could prompt tears.

“I didn’t mean it, Jonah,” he whispers softly, insistently, wrapping an arm around Magnus’ shoulders. The skin there is smooth and soft, something he has often caressed under far different circumstances, but now is not the time for thoughts of romance or lust.

“But you still...disappear,” Jonah whispers, and Peter realizes what this whole episode is about.

“I spent—I spent all that time trapped in that damn cell, _grieving_ over you and _missing_ you and _hurting_ and I can’t lie to your face about that, Peter, I can’t. You’re the only one I can’t lie to. It hurts too much to—”

The words pause for a brief moment.

“...if she hadn’t brought you back for me…”

“I know,” Peter shakes his head, pulling Jonah closer. “I—I’m trying to understand, Jonah. I’m trying.”

It’s hard for him to get it completely—the Lonely ensures that—, but he can feel how badly Jonah is hurting. He’s always been able to sense hurting and loneliness; it was the first sign he’d noticed that something was wrong with the older Brit.

“Would...talking help?” Peter asks awkwardly, and Jonah almost laughs.

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully, managing to push himself into a sitting position for the first time in a few days. Peter almost immediately puts a hand on Jonah’s chest and begins to absentmindedly stroke his torso; the man has put on weight over the last week, a few excess kilograms, and Peter can’t help but admit he adores the way it’s puddled around Jonah’s waist. He nearly says as much, instead opting to bestow kisses to the softness of Jonah’s stomach.

“You’re so _beautiful_ ,” he murmurs, and Jonah’s laugh is soft and genuine and the first true laugh he’s heard from the brunet in what he thinks is weeks.

“Your flattery is appreciated, my dear, but you mustn’t lie to me,” he laughs, tilting Peter’s head up. “Please, listen.”

Peter lets his hands drop to Jonah’s thighs, staring into his husband’s eyes with total sincerity. “Speak.”

Jonah isn’t expecting the near-command, and he chokes on his own words for a little before beginning. He starts off quietly, as if uncertain, trying not to stumble over his own words.

“It’s only—we all must feed our gods,” he amends quickly.

“...but I find it ever so unbearable to wake up to a cold bed, my dear. So long without a person leads one to...believe the very worst. And every time I—”

“You think I’ve died again,” Peter murmurs, giving Jonah’s baby-soft hands a gentle squeeze. Part of his mind registers that those hands have never done a day’s work of hard labor in their life, and he feels an odd tinge of pride that it’s his job—in his mind—to protect and care about Jonah Magnus, but those feelings aren’t important in the moment and he pushes them away.

“Well, it’s quite a ridiculous—”

“I won’t go at night, Jo. Not anymore.”

“...what?” Jonah whispers, eyes widening slightly as he stares at Peter. The effect is comical, for the widening of his whole expression has led to the newfound mild chubbiness in his cheeks to be quite visible. Peter acknowledges this by bestowing a kiss upon each dimple.

“That’s not a high price to pay, my love. I’d be more than willing to do that for you.”

A strange sense of relief washes over Jonah’s body, and a half-choked sob wrenches itself from his lips. Barely a second more has passed before he is wrapped tightly in the arms of Peter Lukas, warm and safe and fully aware that nothing is going to split them apart.

“...I love you,” he whispers, and it hangs in the air between them like the stars that hang low in the sky over the sea at night. The words do not drift; they remain, clinging to the souls of both men.

“I love you too, Jonah Magnus,” Peter replies softly. “Every inch of you.”

“Of which there are many, now,” Jonah winces, rubbing at his arm and grinning rather awkwardly. “I ought to exerc—”

“No, no, I like it,” Peter insists, and Jonah’s words melt away as the man in question lets himself melt into the captain’s arms. “You’ll look...sophisticated. Really suits your feminine hips.”

This time, Jonah’s laughter is so hearty that the cook downstairs can swear she hears the master.

“I say you take a nap,” Peter hums, kissing Jonah again. “Rest helps drive away the feelings.”

“Only if you join me,” Jonah smirks, batting his eyelashes coyly.

One more kiss and Peter is gone, beneath the covers and cuddling Jonah close. His hands, gentle despite their size, roam and spread their gentle loving touches.

Jonah has never been happier to be the little spoon.


End file.
